Nothin but a Hogwarts Houn'dog
by the Dunebird's Cache
Summary: Yes, Fred and George Weasley stand in the audience of an Elvis impersonation contest in the middle of rural Kentucky.


_**Posted in honor of my sister Grace 1992-2006.**  
I began writing this Story/concept sometime in 2003. She was the one who persuaded me to create a Pit account and post my first HP parody, Devil Marmot Drool._

_In general, a horror/humour story. Set at some point after GOF, but I suppose it's an AU of sorts, as it is not compatible with or after HBP._

_Written with different styles throughout as an experiment in tense and voice._

_Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Harry Potter, any part of the estate of Elvis Presley, or Severus Snape's thoughts._

_On to the laugh!_

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

The swinging strains of "Jailhouse Rock" vibrate through the ether of a big, boldly candy-striped tent. Onlookers cheer as yet another be-fringed and pomaded singer saunters onstage, ready to start lip-synching and hip-jerking to the next musical number.

Well... all but two viewers standing together below the eastern comer of the stage, managing to look totally bewildered and awfully impressed at the same time.

Let's make a closer inspection of these anomalies… Ah, twins! Identically flame-headed, stout, teenaged twins both wearing a garish green jacket of what appears to be some lizard hide that glistens rather disturbingly under the harsh stage lighting.

Yes, Fred and George Weasley stand in the audience of an Elvis impersonation contest in the middle of rural Kentucky.

Let's listen in on their conversation afterwards:

_Gred, we have GOT to introduce this 'Elvis' to wizardkind. With the increased revenue, we can get dragonhide pants to match our jackets!_

_We can send the prototype to Ron as usual. It'd make a big splash at Hogwarts, I'd wager. _

_I'm on it like grease in Snape's hair, Forge!_

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

"Hey Harry! Look what Fred and George sent me!"

Ron and Harry proceed to search through the box. Harry pulls out a rectangular box filled with neon pink tablets labelled "New!! Chewable!!"

'What's this? "Flat-foot Bootlaces"?'

Ron shrugs.

"Don't know. Guess we can try it out on Malfoy and his mates though and see, eh? You know I have to report back every single detail about the effectiveness of each sample back to Fred and George as usual."

Harry laughs. Although quite pleased that he's finally dragged Harry out of his dour mood, Ron tries to cover this glee up by dragging out a rather long metal stick with a flat perforated hexagon on one end from the package, and examining its label...

'Hmmm... "You Ain't nothin but a Houn'dog, Ltd."??? What kind of crap is this??!'

A snort from Harry startles him out of his puzzlement.

"... Harry, Are you all right?"

"Yeah, Ron, I'm fine. How in the world did Fred and George choose that name for an old microphone?? There's a song by a famous muggle singer, Elvis, with the exact same name."

"Elivz?"

"ELVIS. He was a famous muggle singer from the USA. He's called the "King of Rock 'n Roll"

Ron visibly mulls over this information.

"Oh... but, I thought the USA didn't have kings?"

"... Nope, rock n' roll is a type of muggle music. Elvis is famous worldwide. Aunt Petunia was a pretty big fan of his songs- although not as much as she liked the Beatles..."

"Wait... your aunt Petunia likes **Beetles**? I thought she was afraid of anything live that had more than two legs?"

...

...

'... Never mind, Ron. Anyway, I was pretty much forced to listen to the King every morning after Uncle Vernon left for work. He hated Elvis- said it wasn't "proper British music", so Aunt Petunia could only indulge when he was out.'

"So, what do Fred and George expect us to do with this 'macrocofone' thingy?"

Harry shrugs. "You see these in the old telly talk shows, but I think they use better equipment now." Harry grabs the mike and tries to adjust the speakerphone. It pops off with a snick. Ron yells in dismay.

"Sorry mate," shrugged Harry. "It was just too old I guess."

After much struggling to stick the top back on to no avail, both boys gave up.

Disappointed in his clumsness, Ron mumbled "Hmmm... no big deal .I guess I'll just dump it in the rubbish and tell Fred and George that McGonagall confiscated it."

"All right. I haven't a clue how to use that thing either. What do you do with a length of steel pipe with a box at the end, after all?"

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Albus Dumbledore strolled through the halls of Hogwarts, as he was wont to do after a nice meal of lemon drops. Upon turning the corner near Gryffindor tower, he happened upon a metal rod lying on the ground next to the refuse bin.

Dumbledore was quite old, but he was no ignoramus. Recognizing the object, he picked it up and spirited it away in his cloak. Later, as he came back into his study, he could be heard telling Fawkes about his lucky find later that evening.

... "What luck?" You ask?

Well, you'll have to wait for Dumbledore to tell you himself.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

"So what's going on at dinner today? Why were we supposed to come an half-hour earlier?" said Ernie McMillan

"Who knows with Dumbledore?," said his girlfriend Hannah. The other Hufflepuffs in the group chorused their own puzzlement until Ravenclaw prefect Padma Patil shushed from across the aisle. ("Shhh! The Headmaster's about to speak!")

Clad in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and his requisite pointed purple hat, Dumbledore stood at the head table, waiting for silence. When achieved, he spoke:

"Thank you all for coming earlier than usual for dinner! Tonight is a special occasion. In order to continue our theme this year of promoting inter-house friendship, House heads McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout will sing the Hogwarts anthem together before we all tuck into our dinners, and seating shall be randomly shifted. I hope all of you can find it in yourselves to cooperate and interact amicably with members of other houses for at least a short while. Who knows? Perhaps you will find new friends... and now... Epsilon! Bunnies! Fortuna!"

As Dumbledore seated himself, a rumble began.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Susan Bones was dismayed. True to Dumbledore's word, mist had rolled into the hall, obscuring vision any further than a Snape's-nose-length, and faded out after a mere thirty seconds, revealing a drastically different Great hall. Instead of Hannah, a glum Zacharias Smith and an unidentified boy (a sixth year too, perhaps?) now sat smack-dab in her central field of vision, while instead of Justin and Ernie, a Ravenclaw she wasn't familiar with sat on her left and Hermione Granger stiffly observed her new surroundings to Susan's peripheral right.

Though she had no interest in talking to either Smith (the prat! How dare he set that fish-eyed spyglass in the girl's loo!) or the unknown boy, Susan figured she ought to get introductions over with quickly, the sooner to ignore them and turn her attention towards conversing with Granger, with whom she had Arithmancy class next morning. Granger however, quashed this plan when she bossily and loudly asked the Slytherin third year on her own right side (whom Susan could not see on account of Granger's hair) his name. Not surprisingly, the boy rolled his eyes and remained quiet. What surprised Susan, and evidently Granger too, was the voice that spoke next. It came from the as yet unidentified 6th year boy.

Staring at him dumbly, her mind registered his black, curly hair, his dark skin, and his Slytherin tie in that order.

This last part nearly made the words she heard him say to Granger fly away past her ears.

Which turned out to be the name of the rebellious second year. Watts. Howard Watts.

In an uncharacteristically confused response, Granger turned her attention to this new Slytherin and asked his what HIS name was. And why didn't he teach the younger years any manners?

Susan watched all this occur with a jaundiced, yet interested eye. It was not every day that a Slytherin voluntarily answered a Gryffindor after all. Nor was the sight of Granger acting flustered such a common sight. Everyone at the table watched the interaction, anticipating something (no one was sure what) that might happen in this unconventional moment.

Unfortunately, Susan never did find out the 6th year boy's name, as right after the last word of the second question left Granger's lips, a sudden boom swept the hall.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Damn Albus to Tartarus.

I knew he'd try to get me to do something like this.

Well, _I BLOODY WELL WILL NOT SING THE HOGWARTS ANTHEM._

Calm down Severus….

…Ugh, Minerva, shut up.

"_Just go ahead and sing the blasted anthem. But rest assured I will not utter a scale. Go on, all you lot! Sing!"_

I'm the Slytherin Head of House. I do NOT sing.

Especially not stupid little songs like the Hogwarts anthem.

So leave me alone.

Ah, there they go… Ick! Merlin save me. This horrid song gives me migraines every time-

Wait... why's every darned person in the hall still staring at me? Since when did my clothing become more interesting than Potter's save of the day?

…

Oh Merlin NO.

My hair! My robes!

My hips! Why won't they stop involuntarily jerking?

Bloody hell. Did I just hear a catcall? From the Gryffindor table no less?

Merlin's bones. I need to get out of here. Not that it could get any worse.

_Sit DOWN, Finnegan!_

What? Malfoy? No! Don't come any closer with that look!

MERLIN'S BALLS!

I need out.

Now.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

_I'm sure all of you are wondering what exactly happened to our staid Potions professor. Well, it is simple. I found this old microphone in the hall and recognized it as the newest Weasley WW item, a commentator that turns non-commentators and people who refuse to sing into an impersonation of the muggle King of Rock 'n' Roll music, Elvis Presley. Please, let us have a round of applause for Professor Snape's exceedingly well done –though involuntary- impersonation!_

_THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE_

_Dies down to SILENCE_

_"Professor?" Pipes ups a fifth year Hufflepuff near the Staff dinner dais._

_"Yes, Julius?"_

_"How did you know it was a WWW Item?"_

_"Well, I'm one of Fred and George's concept betas. Terrific young men, the two of them are, despite being a bit on the ruffianly side with their shenanigans during their schooling years."_

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

After Dumbledore's impromptu explanation, the entire hall erupted in an uproar, everyone and their pet familiar gibbering on about Professor Snape's unfortunate but very entertaining display. It was so loud, in fact that Hermione almost missed the voice.

The voice that whispered into her ear, "Blaise. My name is Blaise Zabini."

Shocked, she turned to her right to see that the pratty little Slytherin third year no longer graced her right. Instead it was the dark Slytherin.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Neville Longbottom, against all bets, had become an auror.

In fact, he was one of the best aurors in the business.

His specialty was with banishing and containing dangerous plants. He could subdue the meanest, most bloodthirsty African violets that blood-Galleons could ever buy. (True African violets can chomp a leg off a gazelle in one bite. I'm afraid the one you get from the grocery nowadays are mere featherweights comparatively.)

Well, it wasn't just that Neville could handle plants. He could handle most anything. In fact, he'll tell you his most memorable moment was banishing a particularly nasty and stubborn boggart from a private home in Dover.

And do you know how he did it?

Simple. He remembered Snape's brief stint as an Elvis impersonator.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Das Ende.,.

(Or is it?)


End file.
